He heard a cry and turned to look up into the upstairs window, the knowledge that she was there like that siren call. He could scarce believe his eyes. There she was, in all her glory, her head dropped back, tits jutting forward, her hands between her legs. His cock sprang to life, a contradiction of the utmost magnitude. Even from his spot by the cliff he could see her body rocking. He could smell her sex in the air. Hear her cries on the breeze.
What he wouldn’t give to be up there with her. She shouldn’t need to rely on herself to find pleasure. None of the women Quinn had been with over the years had ever complained. He might have been a bit of a legend with the women, come to think of it.

She could still see through the window, even while stretched along the bench. Pall and Mira had fallen to the floor of pillows, wrapped in each other’s arms. Their murmurs of love were too low for Lia to understand the words, but she recognized the urgency in the tone of their voices. Her body echoed the cry. She’d never noticed before how tiny this room was. How hot. Sweat trickled between her breasts and they seemed to swell with arousal. Her nipples rubbed against the robe, teased unmercifully by the rough fabric.

Lia watched as Mira reached out and gently stroked Pall’s thick shaft. Lia couldn’t see the expression on his face, but his groan was loud enough to give her an idea of the pleasure he was receiving from his mate’s small hand. Lia could see a slight smile spread across Mira’s face and she stroked him harder. Faster.

Lia’s palms prickled as she imagined touching Roark that way. His cock would be hot and heavy in her hand. Would the skin be as soft as she thought it would be? Would she bring him such intense pleasure as her fingers caressed him, rubbed him?

Pall groaned and pushed his mate’s hand away. Lia had observed that the first time for most couples was over quickly, but she remembered talk that mating could often be enjoyed for hours instead of minutes once mates learned each other’s bodies. Lia swallowed the moan of need that threatened to slip from her lips. Selfishly, she hoped this mating would be over quickly.

A pretty, petite blonde stood in front of the window wearing a silky silver dress. She looked as if she was staring right at Amy. She shivered even though she knew the blonde couldn’t see her.
A tall, pleasant-looking young man with light brown hair stood behind the blonde. He was bare-chested, watching her with an adoring expression on his face. They were talking, but of course, Amy couldn’t tell what they were saying to each other. The pretty blonde swayed her hips to music Amy couldn’t hear. Slowly, seductively, the blonde drew her skirt up along her thighs, teasing her man. When she flashed a peek at her smoothly waxed sex, Amy’s breath caught in her throat. She swallowed, hard, and kept watching.
The man had his hands on the blonde in an instant, wrapping her in his embrace. Amy’s breasts began to ache as she watched him cover his girl’s breasts with his long fingers. Amy saw the young woman’s reaction in the way she moved against him, the way her lips parted and her eyes closed. She reached back and grasped Lover Boy’s head, and then arched her back. She pushed her breasts so close to the mirror, Amy thought she heard his knuckles thud on the glass.
Amy could almost feel his hands on her skin, imagine the pads of his fingers brushing along the surface, gently at first, sending shivers of desire dancing along her body. Would his hands be smooth and soft, stroking her like rich velvet? Or were they rough and calloused? Would they lightly scrape her skin, maybe even leave tiny scratches on her breasts as a reminder of his hands on her?
She couldn’t remember the last time Will had taken the time to make love to her breasts the way this young man was doing for his girl. Amy had almost forgotten the pleasure that kind of stimulation had brought her.

Elise pushed the possibility of nosy neighbors from her mind. She yanked on her thin cotton skirt with one hand, sliding it up her bare legs until it was bunched around her hips. She knew she could pleasure herself, because she had been for years now. Sliding a finger inside her damp panties, she danced a touch along her slick folds. She teased that swollen bud, but the mounting arousal seemed empty somehow. It had been a long time since she’d experienced the give and take of sex between a woman and a man. The slide of sweaty bodies. The musky scent, the salty taste. As much as she hated to admit needing a man for anything, there were times when she yearned for a muscular chest to rub against and a thick cock to ride.
Oh God, she needed this. A soft cry escaped her lips as she plunged two fingers deep into her core. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She rocked her hips. The fragrant aromas wove through her senses, the bees hummed their frantic song, the heat baked her body, the sweat slicked her skin, her hands drove her higher—
“Well, now, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes?”
She froze as a smooth voice she’d not heard in many years washed over her skin like a cool rain. Nicholas Wolfe. Her eyes flew open and she saw his tall, broad, masculine figure silhouetted against the late morning sun. Where the hell had he come from? Then she realized that while she’d hidden herself from her neighbors, she was in clear view of the driveway. Shit, she hadn’t even heard him drive up.

And I have many more…

When you think about it, reading an erotic scene is a little bit like being a voyeur. We see the characters with our mind’s eye. We watch them on the page and if we’re lucky, get a little of that “squirm factor” while we’re reading. So…do you like to watch?

Oh yes I LOVE watching …. as you say, reading an erotic scene is like voyeurism… but the thrill of seeing it live (happened twice) is just as HOT. I did see it as educational, as well… made me aware of certain things that I didn’t know before – but ultimately I wanted to see EVERYTHING. I long for more experiences like that…